When I was five, my family moved from South Wales to Edinburgh, Scotland. From a small Welsh town in a valley to Scotland’s cultural and financial capital.
From ‘Gavin & Stacey’ to ‘Trainspoting’, except in the mid-sixties.
I didn’t notice, but that was the beginning of my feeling alien, out-of-place, a fish out of water.
I’m an earth sign, while my entire family are water signs. This strange country we’d landed in, where they all talked funny, was like a weird planet, fraught with sudden and inexplicable dangers.
So, the short and the fat of it was, I felt alien. A stranger in a strange land, if you like.
It was around that time I first got into S&M. Aged five, maybe six, certainly no older than that.
I realised, at this time, that thinking about girls and women tying me up, made me ‘feel nice’. It wasn’t until puberty that I grew enough vocabulary to describe what I’d felt for years in boy-meets-girl terms.
However, there wasn’t a whole lot of spanking action to be had for a fifteen-year-old in those days. Well, there was, but it was of the in-skull sort – and even today, my left arm looks fucking great!
Throughout my twenties, thirties and forties, I enjoyed progressively more extreme/intense sadomasochistic experiences with a variety of people. This culminated in a series of attempts to live as a 24/7 slave.
None of these lasted more than a couple of years – and the compound effect has been to force me to take a step back and really think through whether I still believe in this ‘elaborate fantasy’.
Over the last year or two, I’ve had periods where it looked like I’d be spending the rest of my days alone. Sometimes that felt positive, at other times, the feelings of being shat out of hell, hurt like hell.
At other times, I’ve thought that maybe this has been a healing process, that once I’m back, firing on all six, I could make someone a pretty good sub-cum-torture-toy. (I’m not really feeling the ‘slavery’ thing just now, yeah?)

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